The Playlist
by Ink On Paper
Summary: It was as if someone had pressed play and so their dance began . . . .
1. Broken

**A/N: OK, so this is another multi-chap fic, but each chap shouldn't exceed more than 300 words . . . . This is one of those iTunes challenge pieces, the rules are simple: Put your playlist on shuffle and write. So here is the product, I'll update several times a day until I have all twenty songs up. The lyrics to the are in italics and I only included partial of the lyrics, these are just the lines that really influenced the piece. So now I will shut up and allow you to read. Review if you like, I won't complain :^) Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS or have any affiliation with Lifehouse.**

**BROKEN by Lifehouse**

_I am damaged at best/Like you've already figured it out_

_The broken locks were a warning/You got inside my head/__I tried my best to be guarded/I'm an open book instead_

_And I still see your reflection/Inside of my eyes/__That looking for purpose/They're still looking for life_

_Broken lights on the freeway/Left me here alone/__I have lost my way now/I haven't forgotten my way home_

_I'm falling apart/Barely breathing/__With a broken heart/ That's still beating/__In the pain/ I find healing/ In your name/ I find meaning_

_So I'm holding on_

She was broken. Her internal clock shattered, how long she had been here she would never know. Too long, far too long.

It was all her fault. But it was his too, she supposed.

The locks that had guarded her mind, kept her secrets in and her heart protected, had been broken, just like her. He did. Tore down every defense she had. She was an open book and he happened to be the sole person who could translate the encryption that was herself. He knew she was damaged long before she ever happened across his path. But he loved her anyway. And she loved him for it, for putting in the effort to love her, even though she could never deserve it, never appropriately reciprocate it.

And it was thoughts of him, words he had spoken to her lifetimes ago, gentle echoes in her ears, that kept her holding on. Through the pain and the torture and wretched despair, she would close her eyes and focus. Focus on the mental image of him in her mind's eye. And she would survive another day.

One more day.

One more day.

One more day.

And when he finds her, broken body (still breathing), broken spirit (still searching), broken heart (still beating), he begs her, pleads with her, to just hold on. Hold on. So he takes her home, allows her to heal on her own time. And she realizes she had never forgotten. Her way home. To him.


	2. This Is Home

**A/N: Not entirely sure I love this one. . . . Let me know?**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS nor am I affiliated with Switchfoot.**

**THIS IS HOME by Switchfoot**

_I've got my memories/They're always inside of me/But I can't go back/Back to how it was/_

_I've seen too much/But I can't go back/Back to how it was_

_I've seen the enemy/And I won't go back_

_And I've got my heart set on what happens next_

_And now after all my searching/After all my questions/I'm gonna call it home_

_This is home/Now I'm finally where I belong/ Where I belong/Yeah this is home/I've been searching for a place of my own/Now I've found it/This is home_

She can't go back and she realizes this. She can never return to how it was, before Michael, before Israel, before Somalia.

She has her memories, her nightmares, her regrets. She has seen the enemy, dark taunting eyes and cruel words on a foreign tongue. And a shadowed man in a big chair that made her call him father. She has seen too much in her twenty-eight years to forget, to pretend that nothing happened, to go back to what it was.

And after all this time, after all her searching, she has finally found the answer to her silent prayer.

And as he leans down, lips brushing her temple, she realizes that there is no going back. Welcome to the point of no return.

But why would she want to return? What would she return to?

She could finally see where she was at was where she was meant to be. She had finally found it, after all her searching, the answer.

Because her life was not over and she was never alone.

And she had found it now, in the safe confines of his arms.

This she decides to call home. . . . . _Yeah, this is home_.


	3. Superman Tonight

**A/N: OK, I love this song. . . . . Anyway, I like this one better than This Is Home. Let me know what you think! Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS nor am I affiliated with Bon Jovi.**

**SUPERMAN TONIGHT by Bon Jovi**

_There's something about you/ I want to rescue/I don't even know you/So what does that mean_

_Maybe I'm cynical/I'm painfully logical/You're tragic and beautiful/And that's good enough for me_

_If somebody sent you/An angel to save you/What would you tell him to turn him away/That your heart don't break/That your lips don't kiss/That life is just a lie/That heaven don't exist_

_Who's gonna fix you/The next time you break down/Stranded alone by the side of the road/It's your baggage that's dragging you down/Don't look back/Let it go_

_Who's going to save you when the stars fall from your sky/And who's going to pull you in when the tide gets too high/Who's going to hold you when you turn out the lights/I won't lie/I wish that I could be you Superman tonight_

There was something decidedly different about her, something tragically beautiful, but he couldn't for the longest time figure out what . . . .

She was strong. And tough. And distant. An elusive loner, a sojourner with nothing tying her to the world. A lost soul, broken and too stubborn for her own good.

And he wished that this was not so.

He was no guardian angel, he was far from being divine at all. He was too cynical to even believe in such things. But he did wish that she would allow him be to a fallen angel, at least to her. But she would have none of this nonsense. Her heart didn't break because it didn't beat. Her lips didn't kiss because she didn't feel. She devoutly refused to actually enjoy being alive because death was too eminent and goodness was a falsehood she wanted no part of. In her eyes angels simply did not exist because heaven? There was no such thing.

But he hoped, silently wanted, to be, perhaps not the angel to save her, but her hero. . . . Like Superman. The great Clark Kent. Man of steel. Faster than a speeding bullet. 1978 classic.

And when life nearly overwhelmed her, crashing above her like a wave, currents tugging her under, he jumped right in after her. Pulling her in. Into reality, into life, into love, into him.

And when bullets fell from the sky like stars and the threats of sadistic terrorists came down like rain, he covered her. As her friend. As her partner. As the man who had fallen foolishly and irrevocably in love with her.

And when she finally broke down, crumpled because she was human and fallible and finite, and whispered his name pleadingly over a crackling phone line, he came to her in minutes -faster than a speeding bullet. And the road was less lonesome with him beside her, and the burden was less to bear with him helping her carry the baggage, and eventually she quit looking backward.

And when she turns out the light on the bedside table tonight, settles against him with a sigh, he realizes he was her hero all along. Her hero. Like Superman.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well, I did something I'd never thought I'd do. I wrote a poem. . . . Actually this was for school last year and just happened to be based upon the lyrics by Linkin Park, which, coincidently, had a song on the Playlist. And because I have to go read thirty pages for APWH and wanted to get as much up as possible, I decided to post this little piece. And it is not great, or even remotely good. But whatever. I will do a long chapter on Leave Out All the Rest, consider this a filler piece for now. . . . How am I doing? Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS nor am I affiliated with Linkin Park. I do, however, own the poem (which I may or may not want to claim . . . . )**

**Based upon LEAVE OUT ALL THE REST by Linkin Park**

**(Anyone's POV, you decide)**

If I was to not wake up tomorrow

There wouldn't be too much sorrow

And if I went missing

I doubt they would be searching

And if I died today

The world would look away

But I think it's safe to say

You'd be crying at my grave

I don't want to be remembered for all the wrongs I've made

I don't see how you ignore my flaws and forgive me anyway

So remember all our good times, remember all our laughs

And remember all our smile, the fun times in our past

And when my day comes and I draw my last breath

Remember how we loved each other

And leave out all the rest . . . . .


	5. PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME

**A/N: OK, so I'm half-way done with Chapter 3 of In Sickness and In Health and should have that up tomorrow evening, but I had to work on the Playlist after I neglected it all week. I'****ve also got a piece to go in Fathers, but I can't get it to sound right, so if anyone is interested in being a guinea pig reader . . . . I digress, onto the Playlist.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS nor am I affiliated with P!nk. **

**PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME by P!nk**

_I don't know if I can yell any louder/How many times have I kicked you out of here?/Or said something insulting?/I can be so mean when I want to be/I am capable of really anything/I can cut you into pieces/But my heart is broken/_

_How did I become so obnoxious?/What is it with you that makes me act like this/I've never been this nasty/can't you tell that this is all just a contest/The one who wins will be the one who hits the hardest/But baby I don't mean it/I promise_

_I forgot to say outloud how beautiful you really are to me/I cannot be without, you're my perfect little punching bag/And I need you/I'm sorry_

_Please don't leave me/Oh, please don't leave me/I always say how I don't need you/But it's always gonna come right back to this/Please, please don't leave me/(Baby, please, please, don't leave me)_

She isn't sure how much louder she can yell at this dense lead-headed man. Who did he honestly think he was? Her keeper? She was a big girl, fully capable of taking care of herself -she has been, after all, since practically forever. She didn't need anyone, she was fine. Fine by herself. Just fine.

And besides, why does he refuse to leave her alone? After everything she's accused him of, after all the lying and sneaking and crossing, all the falsehoods that had dripped from her lips . . . . She'd held a gun, primed and loaded, the barrel pressed into his chest with such a force that a bruise would be a parting gift if not a bullet. She could feel his heart pulsing beneath her gun, rapid and quick because he knew she wasn't bluffing as the harsh unforgiving Israeli sun watched on overhead. And her heart was pounding just as hard now as his had been so long ago. Because she was just as sad and angry and lost as he had been. Because her heart was in shards and the pieces were sharper than any knife she could ever hope to wield, sharper than the satire on her tongue, and they slashed and cut and pricked at him, at her, at them.

Almost as lethal as _I don't need you._And he was long gone from the room but still wouldn't leave.

* * *

He isn't sure when he reverted to his sarcastic façade, but the mask is now firmly in place and thus is the point of no return. He's always been obnoxious, smart, difficult. Allegations of narcissism and an over -inflated ego, condemned for serial dating and chauvinistic tendencies, lies that obscured too much reality that the truth could never be sorted out., all marked him. He's been stupid and pigheaded, dense and apathetic, but never nasty. He bantered with her, argued with her, has had every extremity on his person threatened by her, but he has never been this nasty.

It was really only a battle of wit, this tangled dance of their's. Who could out-think who, who would utter the last comeback, leaving the other lost and scrambling for the upper hand. It was all just a contest. And whoever hit the hardest, dealt the lowest blow was the champion. Champion of what, he didn't know.

Her broken heart or his idiocy? Lose-lose, in his eyes.

He never meant a word of it.

He was an integral part of her. He was her punching bag, her savior; her bane and her elixir; her enemy and her strongest ally.

And she was just as vital to him. She was his reason, his better half. His balance, his happiness. He went to hell and back for her, he couldn't leave her behind then so what lulled him into thinking he could leave her now?

* * *

"What?" she demands coldly as he appears, framed in the doorway.

"I forgot to say something," he says, voice low, eyes downcast. And she tenses, aware that this may be the last shot fired. But he surprises her when he says, "You're beautiful."

"That's what you forgot to say?" Incredulous thy first name is Ziva.

"Yep."

A silent impasse infiltrates the space between them so he turns to go, but soft whispered words keep him rooted to the spot.

"Please. Don't leave." _I need you_.

And who was he to deny her anything?

So he stays and now they have come full circle.

* * *

**How am I doing? Kit.**


	6. Wash Away

**A/N: I like this song, it's kinda happy. Or at least I associate it with happy because I first heard it on a soap commercial where they were washing oil off of baby ducks and penguins. And baby ducks and penguins happen to make me happy. So, yeah. Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS nor do I have any affiliation** **with Joe Purdy and his associates.**

Wash Away

_I got troubles, oh Lord, but not today/'Cause they're gonna wash away/They're gonna wash away/_

_And I have sins, oh Lord, but not today/'Cause they're gonna wash away/They're gonna wash away/_

_And I got troubles, oh Lord, but not today/'Cause they're gonna wash away/This old heart gonna take them away/_

He was healing her, she realized, suddenly dumbstruck. She was laying on her side, mattress soft underneath her sleep heavy limbs, Tony's body curled around her protectively. She wriggled backward, unconsciously drawing closer to his warmth, his familiarity. His breath was hot on her neck, slow steady exhalations tempered with the sound of rain tapping gently outside the window.

The clock on the bedside table glowed 5:48 and she had woken merely because she had found herself untangled from her partner's embrace and gotten cold.

There were no nightmares. No terror riddled thoughts, no cold sweat coating her skin. There were no tear stains on her cheeks or dampness on her pillow, her muscles were not tensed for a blow that would never come. The fear didn't linger and she wasn't afraid.

She had her share of troubles, some caused by her direct hand, some burdened upon her by others. But not today. Because today her troubles had disappeared, evaporated, poof.

She had sinned, committed atrocities that will never be spoken of. And she had suffered her penance and atoned with her transgressions. And she isn't sure she deserves it, the forgiveness that has been bestowed unto her, but she has been pardoned of her trespasses and granted mercy.

The rain was carrying away her quandaries, absolving her sins, leaving her new and fresh and shining, and a full night's sleep had reinvigorated her with an energy she thought was forever lost. And Tony's soft breathing, his hand resting on her hip, his presence, innocent beside her, washed away every doubt in her mind. That this is exactly where she supposed to be.


	7. Leave Out All The Rest

**A/N: Okay, so it's been a while on this piece, hasn't it? My music/drabble muse had taken a hiatus, I guess. But anyway, it's back! So here is the actual piece on Leave Out All The Rest, one of my personal favorites. It isn't the best, but I like it fine. Let me know what you think, if you want. I promise I won't complain :^). Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS nor am I affiliated with Linkin Park and its associates.**

**LEAVE OUT ALL THE REST by Linkin Park**

_I dreamed I was missing/You were so scared/But no one would listen/'Cause no one else cared/After my dreaming I woke with this fear/What am I leaving/When I'm done here?_

_Don't be afraid/I've taken my beating/I've shed but I'm me/I'm strong on the surface/Not all the through/I've never been perfect/But neither have you/_

_Forgetting all the hurt inside/You've learned to hide so well/Pretending someone else can come and save me from myself/I can't be who you are_

_So if you're asking me I want you to know_

_When my time comes/Forget the wrong that I've done/Help me leave behind some reasons to missed/Don't resent me/And when you're feeling empty/Keep me in your memory/And leave out all the rest_

She could hate him, she should hate him. And he should hate her. Really they shouldn't even be civil to each other.

But they are. And they are here. Questioning each other, bruised and bullet grazed, only a queen sized bed separating them.

"I do not understand why you are overreacting," she hissed, eyes narrowed, pride more wounded than her skin.

"Overreacting?" he asked, a bark of laughter, mirthless. "How can this be considered over reacting? You were shot!"

"I was grazed," she corrects pointedly, finger jabbing the air in emphasis.

"Yeah, by a freaking bullet! Another couple inches-"

"But it wasn't a couple inches!"

"It almost was!"

"Almost doesn't count!" she roared.

And like that all the fight leached from his ocean eyes, draining weakly, puddling thickly it seemed on the floor. And she stood there, stock still, chest rising and falling in quick pants, tired from the day and fighting and him.

And she was so caught up in her own headspace that she almost didn't catch the whisper that tumbled from his lips.

"I almost lost you last summer. And almost is way too close."

And she softened, body relaxing as she slowly picked her way across the stretch of space separating them, the carpet littered with words that neither really meant in the heat of the now passed moment. She came to halt in front of him, where he sat on the bed, head in his hands, standing between his knees, placing her hands on his shoulders, still tensed. "But I am here," she murmured.

He looked up her, eyes exhausted, studying her face, drinking her in. "The last thing I said to you this morning was . . . . Not nice."

She blinked, her silence asking for specification as to why some distant barb was suddenly so important. And he obliged, explaining hushedly, "What if it was a couple more inches, huh? What if, what if the last thing I ever said to you was something like that? I would never get to apologize or kiss you or tell you how much I loved you. That would suck, Ziva."

"You were scared," she simplified.

And he nodded, "I'm not as strong as you, I can't sit idly by and watch you put yourself in harms way."

"It is part of our jobs."

"True," he amends, "but running into gunfire is not exactly a requirement."

"We would have lost our only witness."

"I'm not in love with our only witness."

And she sighed, resting her forehead against his, her breath fanning warm across hid neck. "And if my time comes tomorrow? If tomorrow isn't my almost? Or is tomorrow isn't your almost? What would I do?"

"Would you miss me?" he asked, leaning back and capturing her face in his hands, palms resting on her cheeks.

"Of course. . . . But, Tony, in those last few seconds of my life, I don't think I'm going to remember you for all the stupid things you said. I think I would remember the happiness you shared with me, the jokes and love. I don't think I even remember what you said this morning to be honest."

And he pressed a kiss against her temple.

"Then remember this: I love you. Okay? You can leave out all the rest, but please remember that I love you."


	8. More Than A Memory

MORE THAN A MEMORY by Garth Brooks

People say she's only in my head/It's gonna take time, but I'll forget/They say I need to get on with my life/But they don't realize/

It's when you're dialing six numbers just to hang up the phone/Driving cross town just to see if she's home/Waking a friend in the dead of the night/Just to hear him say it's gonna be alright/When you're finding things to do not to fall asleep/Cause you know she's waiting in your dreams/That's when she's more than a memory/

Cause when your talking out loud and nobody's there/You look like hell and you just don't care/Drinking more than you ever drank/Sinking down lower than you ever sank/When you find yourself falling down upon your knees/Praying to God, asking him 'Please'/That's when she's more than a memory/

For some who isn't there, she sure seems _there _a lot. She's occupying the space in his head instead of the vacant desk, her presence lurking behind every corner even though he never actually runs into her. But he holds his breath every time the phone rings. And he glances up expectantly when the elevator dings brightly as if she would be the one waltzing out of its steel embrace.

_Time will heal._

_ You'll forget._

But there's a little voice at the back of his head, a nagging whisper of a foreign cadence, a gentle lullaby of a sultry alto. And it keeps telling him, "No it won't. No you won't." And he believes her.

Because even though the clock on the dashboard is glowing 9:46 and its pouring down rain, fat droplets pounding the windshield, the pavement, a total blackout of water, he finds himself behind the wheel of a red Mustang. And the tires are trying to grip the drenched streets just as he is trying to grip his spiraling life before it gives away completely. He doesn't know what he hopes to accomplish, he's seen the hole, a gaping void, where her apartment used to be, all covered in tarps and dusk and wetness. She isn't home.

She isn't home.

When Jeanne left, he drank an entire bottle of bourbon, mourned him and her and them and all the could haves and should haves until his hangover ebbed away and the stench of alcohol no longer clung to him. Once the bottle was empty, he got over it. And when Jenny died, he drank himself stupid on more than one occasion. But he got over it. And now there's no more Ziva and no more whiskey and he doesn't know how he still manages stay drunk. Drunk on loss and hate and a grief so incapacitating it's a depressant all itself. He's drowning in the stuff. Tears and a bottle of bourbon long emptied. And memories. Waves and waves of memories.

He doesn't think he'll get over it.

He finally quits calling her cell phone because the service has been disconnected. He used to listen to her voicemail, just to hear her, even though he never left a message because it was oddly comforting. The automated voice of a digital secretary does little for him.

_You look like hell_, his boss tells him because the silver-haired stoic is worried. Worried because his senior agent hasn't shaved or bothered with a tie in a week and a half. Because he doesn't even suspect the kid's eaten in that time span either. He doesn't tell the older man that he doesn't sleep anymore. He can't. She's haunting his dreams, twisting precious rest into a nightmare where dark eyes linger accusingly and angry words are spat from a gun barrel. And he's so tired, but he can't close his eyes because he cannot bear to see her. To face her again. Her and her grief and sadness and betrayal. Her and her eyes that just won't shut up.

It's all too much, really.

So he's holding his breath every time the phone rings. And he no longer glances up expectantly when the elevator dings brightly because she just isn't going to waltz out of its steel embrace. She just isn't.

_Time will heal._

_ You'll forget._

And that may be so, but he's still waiting for eternity to catch up and his memory to offer him a respite.

No such luck.

The phone slices through the quite room and, subsequently, his sleep. So he rolls over, snatching up the convulsing device with sleep numb fingers. His blurry vision focuses on green numbers glowing 2:27 by his bedside. And he doesn't have to look at the caller ID to know who is on the other line.

So he sighs and answers drowsily, "Hey, Tony."

And he nods even though his friend can't see the motion and he makes sympathetic noises in the back of his throat.

He hangs up ten minutes later and his words of, "It'll be alright," sound hollow in his own ears.

He doubts DiNozzo believes him anyway.


End file.
